


bigger than us

by drown (orphan_account)



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: M/M, ashton is short, everyone is mean to him, for aisha again, he whines a lot, his life sucks, mostly just cute, you know the works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-13 23:19:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2169078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/drown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in a past life, ashton was probably elmo. </p><p>(aka ashton is short and it sucks)</p>
            </blockquote>





	bigger than us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hosieok](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hosieok/gifts).



> right so.
> 
> 1\. this took so long. ltigerally so long i ms o sotiry aisha  
> 2\. i know ashton's 6 foot or w/e but here he's like 5'4ish probs  
> 3\. there was supposed to be smut but im sooooooo lazy and the end was mostly done on my phone and just. speaking of what even is the end  
> 4\. this could have been so much better but i just gave up basically  
> 5\. i hate everythign come talk to me on tumblr @ tomlinzn  
> 6\. i dont own them i dont even know them dont share this with them or steal this or anyyhing idk why you would but  
> 7\. yea im so sorry  
> 8\. also the summary is a ref to this book from sesame street and its likr a yhing where elmos like its not easy being small and big birds like its not easy being big etc  
> 9\. right bye ill be in my pit of self loathing if u need me
> 
> **THIS HAS BEEN TRANSLATED INTO RUSSIAN[HERE!!!!](http://ficbook.net/readfic/2323705)**

Ashton just wants to reach the salt, because Luke said that if he cooked dinner for them tonight he'd get a blowjob. And, like, he's pretty sure Luke had been joking when he said that but it works pretty well as motivation. Unfortunately, though, his best mate is a six-foot-four-nearly-five _giant_ who can actually reach the topmost shelf of his cabinets and therefore lets his six-foot-two-nearly-three other best mate put all the shit Ashton needs up there. Which is ridiculous. Michael just wants him to struggle.

He weighs his options, turning around to stare grumpily at the closed door of Luke's room; he can hear the shower going, so asking for help is probably out of the picture. Not that he would've asked for help, anyway, because he's way too proud to give in to the constant height jokes. There are chairs, but they're kind of big and he doesn't know if they'll fit through the small archway leading to the kitchen. He could use his manly prowess and climb up onto the counter to grab the damn salt. Or he could jump. One of those two sounds like the best choice.

It's not like he's got any dignity left in the first place, and it's not like anyone's actually watching, but he kind of embarrasses _himself_ when he sets his palm on the counter for leverage and pushes up, hopping until his fingertips just barely brush the small can.

Scowling and huffing out an indignant breath, he goes again, this time kind of just setting a knee on the counter and then nearly tumbling to his death when he tries to leap up a second time.

And then there's this smell drifting through the air, something burnt and like charcoal that sticks in the back of his throat and he coughs, groans when he realizes there's fucking _smoke_ , the pasta sauce is _smoking_ and then he nearly trips over himself trying to go and turn the stove off. 

At this point, he's at least two hundred percent sure that someone wants to kill him. Like, if they wanted him out of the band they could have just asked.

"You look like you're having fun." Luke's voice floats, amused and nonchalant, and Ashton whirls on him, eyes big and frantic and hair matted over his forehead. He looks a mess, but Luke's still smiling at him fondly. His face burns anyway, his cheeks going blotchy with red.

Fuck. Okay. There is clearly no god, and if there is, he's probably laughing his ass off. Jesus is not real. He needs Buddha. He's converting to Buddhism. He deserves nirvana.

"I just wanted the salt," he says weakly, sagging back against the counter and pouting over at his now ruined sauce. All thanks to Luke. In fact, this whole thing is Luke's fault. And it's clearly Luke's fault that Ashton is, like, a foot shorter than him. Ashton pouts even harder, and Luke grins wide in a way that gets his heart tripping, goes over to grab the can of salt (too fucking easily) and ambles back to shove it into Ash's hands. Not that it's any use now, Luke just wants to show off.

"There, babe," Luke teases, and normal Ashton would revel in the endearment he tacks on at the end. Except now his words drip with condescension and he reaches up to ruffle Ash's hair like he's a child, earning himself a swat in the wrist.

"I hope you lose all your hair and turn into a penguin. A hairless, sad, ugly penguin."

"Rude. _Rude_."

"I was gonna spit in your spaghetti."

"We've, like, made out before. That's not too bad."

"Oi, we were drunk," Ashton defends, "and I could've poisoned it."

"Gross."

Is it too horrid to slap him? Probably. By some herculean feat, Ashton refrains. Because he's a good goddamn person, unlike stupid Luke Hemmings. And his stupid hair and eyes and stupid smirky face.

"You're gross."

"What're you so worked up about?" Calum shouts from the doorway and Ashton fights back a groan, squeezing his eyes shut. "Whatcha guys doing?"

"Nothing," he says, just as Luke yells back, "We're making fun of Ashton!"

The other half of their band comes clomping in, hair wild and mouths red and Ashton and Luke share knowing looks. Michael and Calum have been caught with their hands down each other's pants at least six times in total, and they still deny that anything's happening. Like, okay, Ashton's not particularly perceptive, but he's not totally stupid. The fact that they say nothing's going on is basically an insult to his person.

Ashton pins Luke with a perfected glare, his jaw sort of clenched and he can't help but take pride in the fact that he earns himself a slow-burning stare for it. He can work the I'm-pissed-off-but-also-would-like-to-fuck-you-against-the-fridge look, clearly. 

"What'd he do? Holy shit, it reeks in here," Michael says, and Ashton cuts him off before he can make a fart joke or say something similarly obscene. 

"Nothing. I did nothing. Why are you guys here?" Well, they live here, but. That's unimportant.

Michael waves him off, then smirks at the can of salt that Ashton's still clutching like a lifeline. Fuck. Ash turns and slams it on the counter behind him, folding his arms over his chest indignantly. He _knew_ Michael had been the one who put it out of reach.

"Aw, widdle Ashton couldn't reach," Michael coos, and Ash throws his hands up in frustration.

"This," he grinds out, "is not what I signed up for."

Luke reaches out and ruffles his hair. "It's okay, babe, I really like having someone closer to the ground-"

"I hate you. I hate you all. I'm leaving the band," Ashton huffs, turning around and stirring his hopeless sauce as if it makes some kind of point.

"Good," Calum pipes up with a sigh, going to rummage through the fridge. Luke follows him and slips an arm around his waist, and Ashton swallows a lump in his throat despite himself. "Now we can find someone who's easier to see. My dreams are becoming reality."

"Fuck you all. I'm leaving."

\--

The day starts off okay - good, even. Ashton is aware that he's painfully warm, sweat making his skin go sticky and making his hair cling to his forehead, but his nose is pressed into the plane of someone's chest, his arm banding over a thin waist. His eyes crack open slowly, and he's met with the sight of a peaceful-looking Luke, not wearing a smile or looking shy or anything but just looking content to be there with Ashton in his arms. And it would be romantic, but then Michael shifts around behind him and makes soft snuffling sleep noises into Ashton's curls, which shatters the illusion that Lashton is real and Ash isn't just a poor pathetic boy in love. He doesn't know how the three of them ended up in the same bed.

Somehow, some way, he manages to untangle himself from the mass of bodies, shaking himself out and stretching until his back pops disgustingly. Just as he turns to go into the bathroom he watches Michael and Luke shift together, Michael tossing a leg over Luke's hips. Ashton tamps down the spark of jealousy and pretends that he and Luke fit together that well.

He's always the first one up, and it gives him time to study himself critically in the mirror like he always does, without getting laughed at for it. There had been a point when his own reflection sickened him; he takes advantage of the fact that it's not that way now. He's not bad-looking. Tan, sinewy, dimples, good hair. And he's not _short_ , okay, he's compact. There's power in his narrow shoulders and he can't help but admire his own muscles for a few moments, because he's Ashton and he does that.

But then someone starts tossing and Ash gets to brushing his teeth and hops in a shower that scalds his skin and Calum stumbles into the bathroom and they fight over why Calum's taking a piss while Ashton's showering and whether or not Ash looked at Calum's dick for a second too long. He didn't, for the record.

"Who the fuck ate all my Vegemite?" He demands, fifteen minutes later, and he's met with two groggy, not fully awake pairs of eyes.

"Probably me," Calum says.

"Probably him," Michael says. 

"Probably both of you," Ashton grumbles, and then Luke stumbles into the kitchen with his hair all floppy and damp and Ash fixes a smile onto his lips, pretends he doesn't see the way Calum and Michael exchange glances. Whatever. As if they weren't holding hands yesterday.

"Did you eat my Vegemite?" Ashton asks Luke, pushing himself up to sit on the counter, and Luke looks over at him, all confused and cute. With an ambiguous shrug, Luke turns to continue rummaging through the cabinet and ignoring Ashton's pestering.

"Fuck the Vegemite, who ate my Cheerios?" Luke swings around and glares accusingly at Michael and Calum.

"Probably you," Michael says, and Luke pouts.

"Buy me more."

"What the fuck, go buy your own Cheerios," Calum protests.

"You're the one who ate them!"

"Why the fuck would I eat your Cheerios?"

"Yeah, why would he?"

"They taste like cardboard and piss."

"Yeah."

Michael and Calum nod agreeably and Luke lets out a frustrated sound. Ashton continues to sit on the counter and look pretty.

"We're not discussing how shit Cheerios taste," Luke says defensively. 

"You admit they taste like shit!"

"That's not the _point_." Luke rounds on Ashton and pastes on an innocent look. "Go get me Cheerios."

"Okay," Ashton says, and goes to get his keys.

A lot of Ashton's life seems to consist of him trying to reach for things. And that could be made into some kind of really deep, cheesy metaphor, but he's way too preoccupied to think about how he's always, like, reaching for love and shit.

It's nine thirty-two in the morning and Ash still hasn't gotten Luke his goddamn Cheerios because he can't fucking reach them. It figures, actually, that he'd be stuck in this situation. It never ends.

Every time a shop worker, groggy-eyed and pissed at the world, shuffles by, he drops back onto his heels and stops stretching for the boxes on the very top of the shelf, instead scanning the Fruit Loops and Cornflakes Very Seriously. Because cereal is Very Serious. Finally, when Ashton's determination wears thin (maybe two minutes later), he sighs and pulls out his phone.

 _fruit loops?_ He tries hopefully, even adding a cute emoji at the end. 

_Cheerios,_ Luke replies, because he's actually a picky six-year-old, and Ashton bites back a groan, glancing at the shelf in front of him. It looms intimidatingly, and looks as if it's mocking him. As if shelves could be mocking.

 _):_ , He texts back, pockets his phone, and then steps up to the shelf. He looks around to see if anyone's watching, then presses a hand up next to himself, jumping halfheartedly on the balls of his feet. He knocks back a box and winces when he hears a small clatter. Okay. And then he steps up onto a lower shelf as if it's a ladder, bites his lip when the whole thing wobbles, reaches until the back of his shirt rises, and finally manages to grab at his box of Cheerios.

And then ungracefully dismounts. Lands on his arse. Fuck.

Thankfully, Buddha is clearly still watching over him so either no one notices or no one cares and Ashton is pretending he's not going to have a giant bruise on his otherwise perfect bum tomorrow. 

"Cheerios," Luke says in delight when Ashton returns, as if he really is six and daddy's just brought him a puppy, and maybe that's kind of worth it. Except Luke ruins it by patting him on the head like a dog, takes the bag from him and bounces away to eat his breakfast.

Ashton doesn't pout, okay, he doesn't.

\--

He's not entirely sure how he'd gone out for a run and returned with a flower crown tucked neatly into his hair like he's some sort of indie hipster boy but he's not totally complaining. In fact, as he shuffles tiredly through the front door, he reaches up and adjusts it carefully, eyeing the pile of bodies motionless on the couch. Luke peers up at him curiously. Ashton shivers at how he lingers on his bare torso, the line of hair disappearing into his gym shorts.

"What the hell is in your hair?" Calum asks with a small giggle, and Ashton makes a show of rolling his eyes, reaching up to adjust the crown again. It's made out of these small white blossoms shot through with yellow veins and strung together on a wiry branch-like base, and Ash thinks it's quite cute.

"A flower crown. Ran into some fans - literally - and they were like, Ash, you should wear this it'll be cute, so I put it on and here I am." He's still acutely aware of Luke's heated gaze. Wonders if Luke's thinking about what it'd be like to spread Ashton out and leave him sweaty and struggling for breath in a different way. Ashton wants to ride him into the goddamn sunset wearing his flower crown. The idea isn't something Ash is totally against, but looking at the cuddle-mass, he knows better than to bring it up.

"I think it's cute as hell," Luke declares, and Ashton looks down resolutely, shuffles his feet a bit. He feels cute as hell. "You should keep it on. You look like an actual flowerboy."

"Okay," Ashton says, because he's bad at saying anything different to Luke. 

Luke breaks into a smile that makes Ashton pause, it's quick and small but Luke's eyes sort of crinkle nearly-closed and he rakes his teeth almost nervously over his lower lip as the expression fades. Ash tingles all the way down to his toes, and then Calum clears his throat loudly. Ash hates Calum. He considers leaving the band. Again.

"Anyway," he says, maybe too loudly, "I'm gonna go shower."

"You stink," Calum says in agreement. Michael snorts.

"Like that's anything new."

"Also you're short."

Ashton glares at Calum, huffs and then turns away. Luke's stare still feels like it's burning holes through his bare back, so he sort of rolls his shoulders until his back ripples enticingly.

"At least he has nice muscles," Luke says belatedly, and Ashton smiles to himself as he pads into the bathroom and deliberately doesn't lock the door. In case Luke wants to feel said muscles up close and personal. 

(And, like, if he jacks off quick, bites into his wrist and comes to the thought of Luke's hands all over him, that's irrelevant.)

He does wear the flower crown. For the rest of the day, in fact, until late afternoon when they're forced to show up for a photoshoot with some magazine that's latched on to the tail end of their rising fame and won't let go. Ashton hates photoshoots, actually, always feels prickly, like there's an itch under his skin when all eyes are on him. Still, he grins and bears his way through it, turning his head to accent the dimples and rucking up his hair until he looks suitably punk rock. They say the personality in the photos will make up for his height, which, okay.

The group shots they leave until the end, so they're all severely unenthusiastic when they're lined up like a couple of ducks and poked and prodded and dusted at. The only thing Ashton thinks is coming out of all the shit being swirled onto his face is that he looks tanner than usual - which, for an Australian white boy, is not saying much. Either way, he doesn't complain half as much as Michael and Calum do. 

"Okay, so," the photographer, Jeremy, starts when their makeup is retouched, and his eyes are zeroed in on Ash. Not a good sign. "I want to try a couple different poses. Sound good?"

 _Does it matter if it does,_ is what he crowds away from the tip of his tongue, biting the inside of his cheek and nodding complacently. They're arranged carefully, Luke front-and-centre, Michael flanking him on the right, Ashton on the left, and Calum supposedly peeking over Ashton's shoulder. It doesn't quite work like that, though, because - well. Ashton's short, okay?

Jeremy looks slightly displeased and squints at the god-awful composition of them.

"We need a taller drummer," Calum jokes, and Ashton rolls his eyes. 

"Would make it easier for me," Jeremy hums in agreement. God. How many times can Ash get away with threatening to quit in one day? "Right, you." He points at Ashton, and then makes a sweeping gesture at Luke, who looks torn between amused and awkward. "Get on his back."

Ashton nearly whines. Nearly. Has his extraordinary self-control been mentioned before? Luke turns, offers him a small grin and holds his arms out, which should be welcoming but just serves to make Ash bristle. 

"He said back, idiot," Ash grumbles, shifting behind Luke and slinging an arm over his shoulder. "Not fucking bridal style."

Of course, Jeremy snaps his fingers and might as well have a lightbulb hanging over his head. "We'll try that next."

They survive a few shots with Ashton's knees clamped against Luke's hips and his chin tucked over his neck but Michael won't stop snickering and Luke looks slightly constipated or maybe aroused (Ash hopes it's the latter) and Calum makes a quip about how for such a small guy, Ashton really does weigh a lot so that's over pretty soon and Ashton's ego is even more wounded than usual. 

Bridal style goes just about as well, with Luke's arms braced under Ashton's butt and Michael and Calum holding onto the other ends of him, and this whole thing is just serving to make the whole idea of promotional photoshoots even less liked.

"Alright. Well. Some of these are okay, but-" Jeremy cuts off and sighs, scrubbing a hand through his fancy cropped hair. _Me too, man,_ Ashton thinks drearily. "Not good enough for the spread."

The next hour is spent trying to figure out how to work the group shots without Ashton throwing off the whole balance of things and in the end, they resort to various poses while jumping and Jeremy says he'll just edit Ashton to be up higher.

"Thanks," Ash grouses when they're finally done and wiping all the gunk off with flimsy face wipes. 

When they get home, he puts on his flower crown. Luke says he looks cute again. He's not going to say that makes things better, but. It makes things better.

\--

"Hey." 

Ashton's in the middle of stirring the pasta sauce (this time unburnt and properly salted, thank fuck) when Luke sidles up to him, with a hint of pink creeping up his cheeks and his teeth worrying over his lip ring. He's wringing out his hands and then rubbing his sweater-paws together, and Ashton won't deny that he looks cute but he also looks nervous as all hell. 

It's not like that's something surprising. Like, really, Ashton's really the only person Luke ever seems to take the piss out of. He's a shy guy, apprehensive by nature; it just never shows when it's just them. Which is why Ashton arches a brow and nods slowly in greeting, stirring his sauce a few more times, then lowering the heat until it's barely bubbling and leaning back against the counter. Luke looks like he wants to sink through the floor as the seconds tick by, shuffles his socked feet and looks down and up and generally everywhere except at Ashton. 

"Hey," Ash returns, the word dripping off his tongue and it's got the very obvious undertone of _are you okay, you running a temperature? Did you kill a guy? Is there a body I have to hide?_ Luke seems to pick up on it and his mouth tips in a smile, timid. 

"So," Luke prompts, clearing his throat after a long moment of just staring. Ashton feels powerful somehow, and he tilts his chin as if to urge him to continue. "We- you- we- we're free today, right?"

There are a lot of weird things that Luke has said and done but this is really, really weird. Ashton nods slowly and turns back to the food, checks his pasta even though he just did, like, a minute ago. He just needs to do something other than stare dumbfounded at Luke. "Yeah," Ashton adds on needlessly, glancing over.

"Um. Wanna do something?"

"I'm making us lunch, Lukey."

Luke winces. "Yeah, but. After. After lunch, wanna do something."

"Sure, do you want me to call Mikey and Cal?"

There's a long pause. Ashton frowns, and then doesn't feel anything at all, because - "No. Just, um. Just you and I. Doing something. Together. You know."

That sounds like. A date kind of thing. Like. Ashton isn't forming full sentences in his mind. Something's gone wrong. Abort. 

"Oh."

He meets wide, wide blue eyes that are some mixture of hopeful and hurt and then Luke opens his mouth again, clears his throat. "No. I mean. If you don't want to that's fine I was just, I was just wondering because we've never done that before and. I dunno it's taken a while for me to ask you I know but, like, I didn't want you to say no? I mean you've already kind of said no I guess but just - do you want to go on a date? Is that okay?"

"Luke," Ashton starts, jaw slack. He's been thinking about this happening for _ages_ and of course Luke, the dolt, thinks he doesn't want it. He falters and then hurries to get himself together before Luke considers himself completely rejected. He already looks like someone killed his dog and also the bunny he's never had. "I- yeah. Yeah that'd totally be okay, a date is great."

"That rhymed," Luke says weakly. Ashton laughs. It's kind of manic. Fuck. 

"It did, didn't it. Let's. Let's have lunch?"

"Okay."

The tables have turned, he supposes, but as they sit together at the island and shovel down heaping forkfuls of very slightly overcooked spaghetti, Luke seems to shed his nervous demeanor and becomes- well, Luke again. Ashton is actually so relieved when he's dragged out the door, and he feels a flush heat the back of his neck when Luke tangles their fingers together and squeezes tight. 

Luke's palm is warm and dry, his fingers spindly and calloused, far more elegant than Ashton's roughed-up bear paws. He ends up focusing more on that point of contact than where they're going, startles when Luke nudges their hips together and he looks up from where he'd been trying to align his feet perfectly with Luke's. 

They're at a playground and Ashton- doesn't know what to make of that, because it's just so _Luke_ that his heart swells.

"C'mon, babe, I wanna push you on the swings," Luke says, bouncing on the balls of his feet, and then grins wide, pulls Ashton along some more.

That does happen. Luke pushes him until the rusty chains start to creak and he giggles loud, kicks out and jumps off from where he's swung high, tumbling down in a high arc and just resting on his back for a whole minute after, laughing at how he's here, how he's on a date with Luke Hemmings of all people, how he's in fucking love with Luke Hemmings of all people.

Also, he pushes Luke. They have a contest to see who can get the highest, then they have a contest on the slides to see who can get down fastest, and then Luke tries to cradle Ashton in his lap while they go down but it ends up with them ending in a heap at the bottom. Luke marvels over Ashton's arm strength on the monkey bars and Ashton laughs when Luke gets stuck on the curly slide, his lanky limbs hanging off the ends as he struggles out of it. 

Afterwards, they race to the ice cream shop a block away. Buy two cones, eat them all, and Luke kisses him hard outside the shop, steals the last of his chocolate ice cream while Ashton's frozen with shock and processing how warm and lovely kissing Luke had been. They kiss some more, after that. Walk along downtown and pop into shops where Luke makes Ashton try on fedoras that even he won't wear and shops where Ashton picks up raunchy magazines just to see Luke blush again. 

It's the nicest date Ashton's been on, probably, and he says as much when they're sitting tucked in a corner of Mcdonald's, where they've gone for dinner. 

"Really?" Luke asks, pausing for a long moment, retracting his hand quickly out of Ashton's french fries.

Ash smiles fondly. "Yeah. Been waiting a while, too, so. I guess you didn't disappoint?"

"Really?" Luke repeats, and Ashton rolls his eyes.

"Really?" He parrots, imitating Luke's lower voice. He gets a fry in his face as punishment and pouts deeply. They end up throwing fries at each other for the next five minutes, until one gets stuck in Luke's hair and he frantically calls a truce. 

They don't discuss it until they get home, actually. Ashton doesn't particularly want to, isn't interested in the embarrassment that comes along with admitting he's been pining after one of his best mates for god knows how long and now all his dreams have come true and whatnot. 

"Why'd you ask me out?" Ashton asks, when they're taking a break from kissing slow and languid on the couch. He's straddling Luke's lap, and Luke's hands are in his hair, have stripped the bandana out of it and they've been rutting into each other slowly, making Ashton's blood heat. 

Luke stares up at him, kind of dazed, his mouth bruised and red and there's a lovebite blooming just beneath his ear, too. Ashton can't believe this is real life. "I. Well. I guess I've liked you for a while? It's just, I didn't think you realized I've kinda been throwing myself at you, and- I didn't think you gave a shit but then Calum told me that. Um. That you might... be interested?" Ashton snorts derisively at that. Of course that would be Luke's best description. "So. Um. I just- went for it and hoped for the best. Turned out okay." He leans up and kisses Ashton again, rakes his teeth over Ash's swollen-feeling lip. Ashton grips onto his shoulders and exhales, slow and shuddering. 

"Yeah," Ashton murmurs. "Yeah. I'm interested. Very interested."

"Does that mean we can fuck tonight?"

"Forward, aren't you."

"Just wondering."

"I don't put out on the first date, Lukey."

"You're so _lame_."

"Hey."

"And short."

"Well you're tall. And not getting laid."

\--

It takes a while for him to wake up on normal mornings but it takes even longer on mornings like this, when he's sore and still feeling kind of fucked-out and also pleasantly warm, with another body wrapped firmly around his. Ashton yawns wide into Luke's collarbone and presses a sleepy kiss there, manages a smile when he hears him mumble a bit. 

He dozes off again, too comfortable to bother with moving and when he wakes up a second time, he meets ice-blue eyes and a fond grin. Luke's nudging his fingertips along the arched line of Ashton's spine.

"Hi," he says, raspy and so nice.

"Hey," Ashton responds, curling into him, tucking his teeth into his lip. They're silent for a few long moments and Ashton wonders if he should be nervous, afraid that yesterday was just a one-off. He isn't, though. Actually, he doesn't think he cares. 

"You know," Luke starts, and Ashton blinks up at him quietly. "I kinda like how small you are."

"What?" Ashton laughs. "Yeah, of course you do."

"No, really. It's cute. I like how I can just-" he cuts off and rolls over, completely on top of Ashton, and it's like Luke's body swallows his. Ash buries his giggles into the shoulder settled above his face. "It's really cute. You're really- nice."

"Thanks," Ashton says dryly, shaking his head, and Luke smiles. Vaguely, Ash can hear Michael and Calum outside, the patter of their footsteps and their low voices. It feels like it's some other world out there, like he and Luke are separated from it. Cheesy as hell. 

"No problem, shortie."

The nickname should make his hackles rise, but, well, Ashton really doesn't care.


End file.
